Forever January

I want you. How else could I ever put it? More eloquent words don’t seem fitting when the bare, simple fact is that I want you. I find myself dispassionately unsatisfied with other men merely because they aren’t you. I try and pretend there’s not much there, I don’t need you — but the fact is I need you like oxygen to my lungs.

I don’t know how to tell you. I find I’ll probably just keep on playing this façade of mine that you’re merely some guy I know that I find charming and handsome. Perhaps it’s better this way.

The truth is a scary thing and humans have a fear of facts.